#I just... I talked to them again and realized that I took that one thing to mean ''everyone hates you and is just pretending to be nice''

[purpleopossum]

The scariest horror game I ever played was one of those cheap, crummy little find-the-object games you could buy at the grocery store 2-to-a-disk (yes really) It was about a woman who woke up with no memories in an abandoned asylum. As she goes through she realizes there's someone here with her who she hates, who she assumes is in charge here, and who has her daughter. Weirdly, the building is abandoned. There are no nurses or other staff, just this one doctor/guy you're trying to avoid. She explores, reading patient files and slowly putting together what happened. Her husband was a doctor, specializing in coma patients and some kind of weird experimental thing with uncovering memories (in coma patients). He was abusive. She took her daughter and ran, but ended up in a car crash. Her daughter suffered minor injuries, she ended up in a coma... and was handed back over into the care of her husband. He descended into unethical practices and madness (not very far, he was already evil), obsessing over trying to save the main character. He lost his license, but managed, with the help of his secretary, to hide himself and his work away in this abandoned facility (His secretary eventually turned on him when she realized he was evil, and he murdered her/injured her to the point of being in a coma, and experimented on her) There's nothing the player can do for his "patients," who are basically already dead after all his years of experimenting on them, and eventually she blows the building up to kill them both so her daughter can escape. It was incredible, atmospheric, and the villains were NEVER the patients, but the abusive medical staff that have power over them. I have thought about this game, and the implications of it, ever since. It gave me nightmares for years, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. There are STILL SHOTS from this game that just THINKING ABOUT still sends me into fight or flight (not gore, literally just a guy standing in a doorway) I have not been able to find this game again, and it has been many years since I played it, so apologies if anyone knows what I'm talking about and I got details wrong. (Also if you know, please, please, please give me the name. I will love you forever.) And I got it for a couple dollars at the grocery store, because someone made it as a random throwaway title.

The worst thing is that there is so much potential for exploring the horror of psych wards from the angle of medical abuse, ableism, forced treatment/drugging, loss of autonomy, power imbalance, demonization, dehumanization, etc, and YET the horror genre keeps defaulting to "insane asylums and psych wards are scary because there are mentally ill people in there"

[mind-intheclouds342]

The perfect one - Trans Curly x Reader

Warning: Smutty!

To you, he was the best man you could have ever met, tall, blonde, with blue eyes, his beard tickled you every time you kissed him, his hands were big and perfect for holding your face, kind, compassionate, and you could keep naming many other qualities of his.

After so many failed relationships, you felt that you had finally met the right person for you. 

Maybe the only bad thing you could say about him was his job, which meant he was away too much, but in the last few months you were dating, there wasn't a day when you didn't receive a call from him and he would tell you how everything was going.

While you were waiting at the mall for their arrival to meet, someone had approached you. 

He looked familiar when you gave him a glance, until you realized he was a friend of Curly's, whom you had only seen in photographs. 

Jimmy: "Aren't you (Y/n)? Curly's girlfriend?"

"Um- yeah, it's me..." 

You nodded somewhat nervously at the man's sudden closeness. 

Jimmy: "Are you gay?"

"Excuse me?"

That question had caught you completely off guard. 

Jimmy: "Sure you are, otherwise you wouldn't be with Curly, right?" 

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

Jimmy: "You know, because he is a woman."

"Eh?"

Every word that came out of his mouth only made you feel more and more confused. 

Jimmy: "Didn't you know? He may look like a man and all, but he doesn't have what really makes a man."

"You know- I don't feel comfortable talking about this with you. I will kindly ask you to leave me alone and go away."

Jimmy: "Ugh, I'm just telling you the truth, you don't have to react that way."

He rolled his eyes. 

Jimmy: "You should be with a real man, I'm available if you're interested in that."

"No thanks, I would prefer to eat cockroaches."

You made an unpleasant grimace at that idea, but the thought of being much closer to that person for a longer time seemed even more disgusting to you. 

After rejecting him in a thousand different ways and having him insult you for rejecting him, he got tired enough to leave you alone. 

"What kind of friends does Curly have?"

You wondered, looking at the time on your phone, hoping he would arrive soon. 

And when you looked up from the screen, all you could see were yellow tulips in front of you. 

Curly: "Have you been waiting a long time for me?"

You melted at the sight of that beautiful smile he has, and the gesture of the flowers in a pot won your heart once again. 

"No, not at all, I arrived just a few minutes early."

You responded by greeting your boyfriend with a kiss on the lips, happy to see him again. 

Curly: "Great, shall we go to that new café you wanted to go to?"

"Of course~"

You clung to his arm and, attached to him, walked together until you reached that place.

You took a seat, leaving the flowers aside, and after glancing at the menu, you decided to place  your orders. 

Curly: "And? Have you thought about my proposal?"

"To go live with you?" You smiled, playing with the paper napkin on the table. "I don't know..." It's still a bit early~ we've only been dating for half a year"

Curly: "Mmm, but we've known each other for two years." 

"But it seems like you haven't told me everything~" 

Immediately, his calm demeanor changed to a more nervous one. 

Curly: "Hehehehe, what are you talking about?"

"I had the strangest conversation with your friend Jimmy, you told me he was a good guy, but damn, he's an idiot!" 

Curly: "Oh- um- and what did he say?"

"He started calling you less of a man and those things, he even called you a woman, I thought it was a bit exaggerated."

Curly: "Well... About that..."

"...Why would you hide something like this from me??"

Curly: "I didn't know how you were going to react... I like you a lot and I don't want to lose you..."

"Fool, it's not worth hiding those things, sooner or later they come to light, and it's better to say them beforehand." 

Both sighed and rested their heads in their hands. 

Curly: "You're going to leave me, aren't you? It's okay if you do it..."

"What?"

Curly: "At this point, this is where everyone leaves... For women, I was never a 'real man,' and for those who like women, I was never quite a woman, so... no one was satisfied with me after finding out that I am trans. " 

"I'm angry because you didn't tell me earlier. Not because you were born a woman"

Curly: "...Are you not going to leave me?"

"How could I leave the best man in the world?"

When he saw your smile and heard what you said, he couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and joy. 

At that moment, your drinks were brought to you, and you continued your conversation as if nothing had happened, talking about your jobs and friends, catching up after not having seen each other for a while.

You had decided to go to his house, you wanted to stay for dinner and sleep with him. 

"Was that you??" 

You said, surprised, looking at some photos from when he was a teenager, before testosterone. 

The two sitting on the couch in their living room. 

Curly: "Yeah... They always told me I looked very masculine, so I tried to look as feminine as possible so they wouldn't talk weird about me, but I think I just looked dumber." 

"You were so beautiful! You have always been handsome your whole life, it's unfair!"

You buried your face in his chest and hit him a couple of times softly, until you stopped and looked at him. 

Curly: "There's nothing left" he laughed lightly as if he could read what you were thinking. 

"Can I see?"

He blushed a little at your proposal, but he was quick to please you and take off his shirt. 

You attentively observed his scars, carefully touching them with the tips of your fingers. 

"I love them" 

Curly: "And i love yours," he smiled, seeing how focused you were on his chest. 

He became somewhat curious when you started looking at his face and chest repeatedly; he suspected you were up to something and confirmed it when you bit his chest out of nowhere. 

That was the greatest show of affection you could give him. 

"By the way! You need to work on your friendships. "

You told him when you stopped biting him, he was lying on the couch breathing heavily from how you had attacked him, his entire chest and neck marked with small bites and hickeys.

Curly: "Can we talk about that later?"

He said with a sigh and his cheeks red. 

"Of course" 

You smiled to climb on top of him and kiss his lips. 

You felt his hands resting on your thighs and then slowly sliding down to your butt to squeeze it. 

You let out a small sigh between your lips, causing him to pull away from you. 

Curly: "Are you sure about this?"

"More than sure" 

You confirmed it and let out a squeal when he grabbed you to carry you, getting up from the couch ready to take you to his room. 

When he laid you down on the bed, he immediately began kissing your neck and slipped his hands inside your shirt, trying to unfasten your bra. 

You felt his hands glide over your body to take off your shirt, momentarily parting from your neck to get rid of it and then placing a kiss back on your lips. 

He gave you a smile before turning to your breasts to start kissing them first, then licking them, and finally dedicating all his attention to your nipples, one in his mouth and the other being massaged by his left hand. 

He sucked, pressed with his lips, and moved his tongue in circles over one, while with the other he gently pulled and twisted, making them hard, causing you to arch your back while letting out small moans. 

Curly: "You sound so lovely..." 

"I didn't know you could be so eager..." 

You laughed a little until you saw him run his tongue between your breasts and then down to your stomach, leaving a kiss on it before he started to take off your pants.

"Hey! I'm not a rag doll!" 

You shook your legs to prevent him from completely removing the lower part of your clothes, it didn't bother you at all but you felt a bit lazy letting him do everything. 

You finished taking off your pants by yourself, left only in your underwear, sat on his bed, and smiled. 

"You have more clothes than I do."

Curly: "And if we leave that for another day? It doesn't bother me at all to please you today."

"Pants down"

You said it almost like an order, crossing your arms.

He sighed to start unbuttoning his pants, and as he lowered them, you saw that he was wearing boxers, but what caught your attention the most was the hair peeking out from the lower part of his stomach. 

"...Jungle?"

Curly: "Don't say it like that!"

"I see that the curtains match the rugs. "

Curly: "Don't keep on with that"

You let out a giggle and pushed him, making him fall back onto the bed. You rested your cheek on his thigh, playing with the edge of his boxers between your fingers, then slowly pulling them down to his knees. 

"Oh wow-" 

You just said that and Curly was already covering his face with his arms. 

You had never seen an erect clit in your life, but you didn't mind it at all, not to mention the amount of hair covering that area. 

You couldn't help but lean in and soon take it into your mouth to suck it, surprised when he suddenly lifted his hips and his legs trembled, perhaps you hadn't considered the sensitivity of that part. 

When you tried to pull away, his hands went to your head, pushing you against his pussy. 

Curly: "No, no, no, please don't stop"

And those words were enough for you to continue with the pleasure of that man, too immersed in his moans, not wanting to stop and even exploring a bit more by inserting two of your fingers inside him, giving him goosebumps. 

Curly: "Yesss, keep going like that- a little more- a little more and-!"

You could only drown your moan in his intimacy when his legs pushed you even more against him at the moment he reached his orgasm. 

Little by little, his trembling legs slid down your back, leaving you free, finally lifting your head with your cheeks red and your face all wet.. 

"Bleh"

You stuck out your tongue to get a hair off it, and both of you ended up looking at each other and then laughing for the same reason. 

Curly: "I think I got carried away-"

"Do you think so?" 

You murmured to lean over him and kiss his lips.

Curly: "Eew, you are soaked."

"Now you deal with it" 

They laughed as you planted kisses all over their face. 

Curly: "If you want to soak my face, do it like this"

He took your sides and pulled you up until your stomach was against his face, he started kissing you, tickling you, and making you sit on his chest.

"Hehehe what are you- oh my God-"

You let out a moan when he took your sides and ended up dragging you to his face, moving your panties aside with his teeth and inserting his tongue in an instant. 

You were definitely going to seriously consider moving in with him. 

[ashblooddragons]

In Ripe And Ruin

This was a request by @vavafaure1994 I'm so sorry this took me so long to make! I hope it was worth the wait!

also special thanks to @sugutoad for making this fics moonboard! I don't know what I would do without you girly!

Word Count: 2504

Warnings: semi public sex, dirty talk, oral f receiving, swearing, p in v sex, loss of Virginity, purity kink, blood kink, tell me if I missed anything

Summary: When Lady Elia Martell came to the Red Keep for her little sister's betrothal, she didn't expect to catch the attention of a certain Rouge Prince and most certainly didn't expect this visit to involve her being the one betrothed and not her little sister. also this is my first ever smut so do be kind, I tried my best!

I can’t believe my father agreed to come to the little Prince Jacaerys sixth nameday. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, not after seeing that letter from the heir asking if her son and my youngest sister could be betrothed.

I watch as the soon-to-be betrothed run around together. “She will be Queen one day if we agree to this match. Don’t you wish for Arianne to sit on a throne just as you will sit mine?” My father says as he smiles and waves to the heir to the iron throne. 

“But that is the thing, Father, she will not sit on the throne, only look pretty beside it with that boy's seed leaking down her legs as she clutches her swelled belly.” I fire back through clenched teeth as I smile at what seems to be a prancing lion turned human, and not in a good way. 

“Elia.” He chides

“I speak only the truth you seem to be blind to, Father. What you forget at every turn is that we are not like them, we do not see Bastards as sinful as they do. They will kill my dear sister the moment that diseased King falls from that throne. For they know what we all do, that boy, nor his brothers are true-born Velaryons. No matter how hard the Princess so direly tries to make everyone believe they are. And when the King dies, a war will break out, and I will not let little Arianne be in the middle of it.” I hiss back before walking away as my father calls for me.

I walk over to a food table and pick up a honey cake. “Those are my personal favorites as well.” I hear someone say behind me, his voice sent shivers of exhilaration down my spine. I turn and see none other than The Rouge Prince himself smirking at me.

“Well, that’s a shame for you as this is the last one.” I say as I take a bite with a smirk.

He chuckles and looks at my eyes inquisitively. I know why, though my black ringlets and olive skin say I am a  Martell, but my eyes of vibrant Lavender say I’m a Targaryen. “Viserra’s daughter, Elia Martell right?” He inquires as he reaches for a vine of grapes, popping one into his mouth.

My mother passed birthing me, I’m the only child of Princess Viserra. I’ve been told if it weren’t for my hair and skin tone I’d be her clone and anytime I see her portrait I can’t blame them as I at times think someone had ruined one pf mone own only to realize it is my mother’s. 

“What gave it away?” I tease smiling when he laughs fondly. His laugh a deep and sultry sound and the way he’s looking at me as if I’m a gazelle and he’s a lion about to pounce on its prey and have the most delectable feast, leaves me breathless trying to find my footing again.

“What brings a sand Queen to this shit-filled city? Surely there is more to your visit than just making men think most debauched thoughts.” He says as he reaches for two wine glasses from a servant passing by, handing me one with his signature smirk. 

“I had not meant to make men think such ways, though if they are that is their problem is it not?” I say looking down at my dress, in Dorne it would be seen as normal and lovely dresses fit for the heiress to her families seat. But the dress of the finest silks and chiffon only reserves me disgusted looks and the word ‘whore’ whispered behind me as I pass.

“Hmm, that doesn’t answer my question, why are you here? Dorne only comes here if it is of the utmost importance.” 

“My little sister, Arianne,” I say pointing to her talking to the little Prince Jacaerys. “There’s a possible betrothal between her and the little Prince. I do not think it is the right choice, there is a war to come, you know this just as well as I do there is no avoiding it. I do not want her to be in the middle of something she has no part in. She is too gentle and kind for your cruel and septic city and Kingdom filled with snakes and vultures reader to swallow her whole. I do not like that the Princess is now bringing house Martell into her mess because she can not clean it up on her own. Targaryen problems should stay with the Targaryens” I say seriously.

“Are you not also Targaryen?” He says amused looking me up and down trying to asses me after my little speech.

Underestimated me, you will learn to never do that my Prince. 

“Yes I am, I even claimed the she-dragon Sliverwing, but it is not I the Princess wishes to bring into her problems, it is my sister a girl with no Targaryen blood. If it were me that would be a different story, but it isn’t.” 

“Well, put.” He says as he holds out a hand to me. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” He asks and I take his hand letting him lead me to the horde of dancing courtiers and ladies. 

“So tell me, I had heard you claimed Sliverwing, though not how you had done it.” He says gripping my waist holding me close enough I feel his breath against my ear sending a shiver of want down my spine.

“I kept seeing something in the clouds, it felt like it was pulling at my very soul, calling to me. One night I couldn’t handle it anymore I left the keep and followed that pull and when I finally felt the end of the string, felt it finally slacken, there she was, as if waiting for me to build the courage to face her. I climbed her back, I didn’t need to say a word she thrust herself into the air letting out a happy roar. I knew then with her wings beating under me what I had done, what every child, especially a Targaryen child dreams of, I claimed a dragon.” 

When I looked up at him again he seemed enthralled with my story. I gasp when I see how close we’ve gotten, our lips only an inch apart only needing one of us to bridge the gap and our lips would be locked. I look him in the eyes and see the lust filling his amethyst pools and I know he sees the same lust in my Lavender ones. 

“It’s interesting that our souls know where we belong before we do, don’t you think?” He asks in a tone that tells me there is a darker, more debauched reason behind this question.

When he turns me in time with the beat of the music I feel dizzy with lust, the only thing grounding me is him grabbing my hands so my arms are crossed against my chest and my back rests against his chest. when I look up at the royal table I see the Crowned Princess glaring at me and the Prince, I see the rage she feels towards me and the want she has for The Rouge Prince.

“And what is your soul telling you now, my Prince?” I ask turning my head to look up at him and when I do I feel his breath fan my lips. I feel a coil of need, of lust, form in my abdomen as I feel the large hardness of him against me.

“That it seems we need privacy.” He says as he grips my hand pulling me through the horde of dancers until he leaves the throne room. He continues to drag me until he finds a secluded corridor, he then turns and kisses me walking me back until my back hits the cool stone of the keep. 

I gasp when he dips his head down and starts to suck and bite at the soft skin of my neck. “How have I lived this long without tasting your sweet lips, sweet skin? Is that cunt of yours just as sweet?” He asks as he rucks up the skirt of my dress, I feel his hand grips my thigh as the other grips my hair keeping my head in place as he devourers my lips again swallowing any moans or whimpers that would escape me. 

I gasp when I feel his fingers graze against my wet core. “Gods you're already wet, I knew you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.” He says as he gets down on his knees in front of me lifting my leg onto his shoulder. 

When I realize what he is trying to do I grip his hair stopping his advancement. “I–I’ve never–.” I stutter out blushing as he gives me a wolfish grin.

“Your telling me this sweet cunt is unspoiled? That I am the first to taste it?” He asks as if in a trance.

“Yes, I still have my maidenhood.” I say breathlessly. 

I gasp at the way he looks up at me after learning of this, it’s the look of a madman, of a man given all he has desired on a silver platter and now it is time for him to feast. 

And with that thought in my mind, he delves forward between my legs to lick at my wet core. I slap my hand to my lips trying to muffle my moans. 

I can’t help but fear someone will hear us, more so me I suppose, as of course he couldn’t bring me to his chambers or even a storage closet, only a secluded corridor where anyone can hear or see us. For some reason the thought of someone catching us excites me, making me clench on nothing.

I feel his tongue inside my core and I move my skirts so I can see him better. When I do I see him smirking up at me as he sucks on my pearl, I throw my head back letting out a loud moan. 

“Seven hells, keep singing for me, love.” I hear him growl against me as he laves at my pearl and he sinks a finger inside me curling it just right to make me see stars. As he licks and sucks, pumps and curls I feel my legs tremble the only thing keeping me up is the Prince.

“Please! Please! Please!” I beg not fully sure for what though all I know is the coil in my gut is hot and tight and I need it to release.

“Not yet, love, you don’t get to peak without me.” He says as he rises back up keeping a grip on my thigh as he unties his trousers. 

When he pulls out what must be his cock I gasp and shack my head. “Th–there's no way that is going to fit.” 

I only hear him chuckle as he kisses my neck again gripping my other thigh so he can lift me and my legs wrap around his waist. “It’ll fit, it may be painful but I’ll make it fit.” 

I feel him tap the head of his cock to my pearl making me whimper before he positions himself to my core stretching me to the point of pain. I bite his shoulder fighting back my scream of pain as tears roll down my face. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love just relax.” He whispers as he hisses as he tries to push his way through. “Fuck your a vice, you weren’t lying about being a maiden.” He groans

I continue to cry and whimper as I bite his shoulder until he pushes his way through till he bottoms out, once he does I feel something snap.

He rests his brow to mine waiting for me to relax before he moves, he kisses my tears as they fall slower and slower now as the pain subsides to want and need. I try and move my hips silently imploring him to move, and when I look up at him again I see him smirking down at me. 

“Please.” I whimper out.

“Please what, love?” He teases and I look up at him pleadingly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Move, please move.” I say not knowing what else to say to convey my need.

He lets an animalistic growl as he starts to thrust into me, gripping my hips and plush thighs. I bite my lip trying to hold back my moans only letting the whimpers and whines of pleasure leave my throat.

“Fuck, look at that mess.” I hear him groan as he looks down at where we meet. When I pick my dress up more so I can see what he speaks of,  I see the smear of blood coating his cock and white hairs upon his pelvis. 

“I’m sorry.” I moan out gripping his shoulders tighter as he thrusts into me faster and harder. 

“Don’t be, love, it’s a welcome sight.” He says before capturing my lips in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless as he fucks me against the stone wall. 

I moan into his lips until he pulls back looking me in the eyes as he hits me where I see stars. “You won’t need to worry for your sister anymore, love. For she won’t be needed for an alliance anymore once I fuck my babe into you and wed you before the gods.” 

I can only moan and nod my head in response completely lost to the pleasure he is giving me. He continues to thrust into me hitting me each time in the spot that makes my mind go black. That is until he grips my hair and makes me look at him.

“Fucking say your mine, say you’re made for me.” He demands as he continues to thrust into me.

“I’m your, my Prince, all yours.” I gasp out feeling my peak on the precipice 

“Daemon.” He growls out.

“Wh–what?”

“Call me by my fucking name.” He says emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. 

“Daemon! Daemon! Daemon!” I cry out as my peak crashes over me in sharp suffocating waves. I swear I hear him groan as he releases his spend in me but I can’t be sure as all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

Once we’ve both come down from our highs he sets me on my own two feet again steadying me as my legs still tremble. I try and ignore the feel of his sticky seed leaking from my core and roll down my legs.

“Did you mean it? Did you mean what you said of marrying me?” 

“Yes.” Is all he says in return.

I don’t know why I believe him, but when I look into his eyes I find nothing but conviction and honesty.

Seems my sister won’t be getting betrothed after all, but me instead. this is most definitely not how I thought this night would go. I think with a chuckle as I kiss the Pri-Daemon again saying in all but words I accept.

Taglist @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @baybaybear1

[arcane-rush]

Here's another one of my aus! So everyone remembers the puppet episode where Bill took over Dipper's body. And everyone, I think, also knows that Bill's "doctor" tried to blind him so he couldn't see into the third dimension anymore. And when Bill was possessing Dipper, he poured soda in his eyes. So I have an idea, and here's how I think it would go.

Bill, right after pouring soda in his eyes: Why... Why is everything black? Why can't I see?

Dipper, annoyed: Maybe because I don't drink out of my eyes!

Bill, has begun to panic and not listening: Why can't I see?

Dipper seeing Bill begin to have a panic attack: Hey, just, wash my eyes out with water, and you'll be fine. Oh... You know what, I'll lead you to the sink ok?

Bill nods and lets Dipper lead him to the sink and wash his eyes out. After he's finished, he goes back up to Dipper's room and curls up on his bed. Dipper is still annoyed that he doesn't have his body back, but is more sympathetic after seeing Bill panic.

Dipper: Why did you panic when you couldn't see? You don't have a mouth, do you drink out of your eye? Is that why you poured the soda into my eyes? How do you eat? Do you even need to eat?

Bill immediately has a flashback of Ford asking him a million questions, and being so gentle with him, just like Dipper's being.

Bill: My eye turns into my mouth when I eat. And... Being blind brings back... Bad memories.

Dipper pauses, and realizes that Bill isn't just evil, something must have happened to make him like this. Something must have hurt him so badly to be like this now.

Dipper: If you wanna talk about it, I'm here... You don't have to do this alone. I don't know why you're not acting evil right now, but since you're not... You can always talk to me. As long as you don't try to hurt me or my family again.

Bill leaves after that, and Dipper gets his body back. Mabel's a bit mad at him for missing the show, but forgives him when he explains. They don't tell anyone else about it till later.

Bill visits Dipper in his dreams and they talk about stuff. Dipper always tells Mabel about it, but it's kinda annoying cause he does it every night. Mabel thinks that it's because he can't possess anything at daytime, and figures since Bill said he wanted a puppet, he could possess inanimate objects, and makes a tiny Bill plushie. This works, and Dipper carries the plush everywhere, but he has to be alone when he's talking to Bill, because they don't want anyone else to know. Until Ford comes back.

So Ford comes back, and plush Bill is just clinging onto Dipper. Dipper connects the dots and forgets that there are other people here, takes out plush Bill, and asks;

Dipper: Bill, do you talk to me so much because I remind you of him?

Bill, answering because he also forgot the others are there: Maybe...

And Ford freaks out, but then they have to get rid of the FBI. So here's what happens after.

Ford: Why do you have that? Why do you talk to him, and why do you trust him!?

Dipper: I-

Bill, cutting in: He's my therapist. As you know, I have issues, and he's helping me with them.

Ford: What are you planning, Bill?

Mabel: I think he's just sad because he missed you. He won't stop talking about you.

Ford: What!?

Bill: Wait a minute... The portal is still open... Can I come through it, so I can stop being a plushie?

Ford: No!- Wait... Why did you ask? You could have come through already. Why ask?

Bill: Cause Dipper and Mabel say it's polite to ask for things instead of just taking them, or doing things...

Dipper and Mabel nod.

Ford: ...I'll turn the portal back on, and you can come through, but if you hurt anyone, just once, I'm kicking you out.

Bill: Okay!

So now Bill lives with them, and protects Mabel and Dipper. Ford eventually warms up to him and they get together. Stan and Bill have a friendly rivalry about who takes care of Dipper and Mabel better. And when Bill meets Fiddleford, he gives him all his memories back, except the really really traumatic ones, and fixes his brain. He does this of his own free will, it was his idea, and he does it knowing that Fiddleford will hate him afterwards, and Ford might leave his for Fiddleford because they did have feelings for each other. Fiddleford tolerates him, but doesn't forgive him. Not fully.

Since Bill sees Dipper's dreams, he knows about his parents divorce. Bill simply gives his parents the idea of letting them stay in gravity falls, since they seem happier than ever in their letters. Bill just gives them the idea, with Mabel and Dipper's permission. Mabel suggested it, actually. The parents visit, and decide to let them stay on their own.

And that's the au. I'm calling it the Big brother au,since Bill takes that role with Dipper and Mabel.

[sweetluna20]

my favorite girl

caitlin clark x reader angst

(be nice)

“YOU DID GREAT”

“all for my favorite girl”

dowling catholic has just beaten valley high. not only with the same city rivalry, this game was the season opener, caitlin just got done with fiba u17, the game was huge. everyone was there, it honestly seemed like everyone in des moine was there. 

you sat in the first row watching your best friend play her heart out. 

her basketball games always brought a smile to your face, seeing your best friend play with so much passion always made you smile. 

the loud horn rang, signaling the game ended dowling won 80-26.

you watch as students started to leave, filled with excitement and joy from the win.  sitting on a bench outside of the school waiting for her. you wondered how she was feeling, you couldn’t wait to see her smile from the win.

then you see her.

she was walking out with some of her teammates smiling and laughing about their win. you waited till she parted ways with them, smiling as you watched their.

then she spots you, running up to her and tackle hugging her.

“YOU DID GREAT” the excitement and enthusiasm in your voice could be heard thousands of miles away.

“all for you my favorite girl” she responded with a huge smile on her face. as she wrapped her arms around your waist. 

you hide your face in her neck hearing the sweet nickname. staying like that for a bit. you let go of her embrace, asking her in a much calmer voice.

“where do you want to eat champ”  still trying to get your mind off of the nickname. 

“hmmm, do you want to try that new pizza place, it’s by jordan creek?” she sounded happy but seemed sad that you let go of her embrace.

“Oh my god yes! i’ve heard so many good things about it! lilly and emma went there a few days ago and i swear they still haven’t stopped talking about it!” you exclaimed with so much excitement.

caitlin smiled widely, she loved it when you would get so excited and passionate about whatever you guys would talk about. but she was also trying to push back her jealousy. even though she knew she was your favorite person, lilly and emma were two of your closest friends. she was jealous how they got to hang out with you all the time. she had just gotten back from fiba U17 which took up practically all spring and summer and now basketball season started so she would barely  see you again. she couldn’t help but to feel jealous when she would watch and hear you talk about them all the time. 

“you gotta stop hanging out with my dad, you’re starting to turn into him, champ” she nudged you in the arm.

“hey, it’s not my fault that your parents needed someone to look after colin and it’s not my fault your dad loves me” you’re really close with the clark family, the clark parent has always saw you as a second daughter and blake and colin have always seen you as a sister. 

“eh colin’s fine, you should come travel with me next time i’m in fiba” 

“cait you know i would love to, but with what money? i’m babysitting colin for my college fund”

“ill pay for you!” she replied with her great big smile 

“you have as much money as i do. now focus on the road before we get in an accident” you could hear the fake annoyance in your voice as you roll your eyes at her.

“you’re no fun” 

turning on taylor’s 1989 album, the same one you’d gotten catlin for her birthday a while back. 

you hadn’t even realized you were there until she turned off the music.

“you ready?” she asked calmly

“yea i just zoned out” taking her hand as you guys run inside.

but that was the old days 

the old caitlin

now you barely see her, talk to her, touch her.

all because her stupid boyfriend being jealous of you.

hell the last time you guys even spoke was a because of a fight.

“God y/n why didn��t you tell me you’re dating someone, i’m your best friend” she yelled

“You’re blaming this on me?” you asked, you were confused and hurt.

“Yes i’m blaming this on you, we’re difting apart, you never talk to me, god I didn’t even know you were dating someone. we haven’t spoken in literal months y/n, this is the first time we’ve talked and we’re fucking fighting”

“Oh My Fucking God Caitlin, you don’t get the right to put this on me. ever since you gotten with connor you’ve been ignoring me, you act like i didn’t exist when you were with him, you don’t respond to me or acknowledge me. and for what he was jealous of me? it’s not like you even like me. you have no right to be mad at me for not telling you i’m dating when you don’t even care.” you yelled back. hurt that she’s mad at you, hurt that she’s been ignoring you, hurt that she got with connor after you told her you loved her. 

silence fell between you two. feeling tears starting to form, you knew it was time to leave.

“i’m going to go, bye caitlin.” you left, head down, with tears streaming down your face. you close the door hearing no response.

but caitlin did respond, too quite for you to hear.

“I love you so much y/n, more than you could ever know.” as she hears the door shut. she silently sob realizing her best friend, her childhood love, her favorite girl had just left. 

all because of a stupid boy she doesn’t even love.

(this is ass so i’m sorry)

i really gotta stop writing angst before i get murdered.

★taglist★: @heart4caitlin, @equalhealerr, @connormccafferyhater, @caitlinclarkismakingmeweak

[daycourtofficial]

peppermint latte with marshmallows 🥹🥹🥹 I just know Lucien’s first time meeting Atlas was so heartbreakingly cathartic… can we get an emotionally devastating insight into him holding and meeting Atlas was like my saviour 

Okay bestie this was so 😭🥹 to write

Order your own coffee for Gingerfucker week from this menu ❣️

Peppermint latte with marshmallows = Lucien and Atlas fluff

The Forest House was warmer than his memories of it. The walls colored more black and dreary in his mind, memories of cruelty darkening the vibrancy of Autumn.

He stood just before the doors to the dining hall, the smells of breakfast wafting through the air. Pumpkin pastries were calling out to him, his stomach nearly growling in desperation for the sweet treat of his childhood.

Mere hours ago his nephew was born. A tiny thing who looked just like every other Vanserra: bright red hair and some unseen determination.

Eris had arrived quickly after Eris’s invitation, hoping to fill the house with people his mate loved, everyone rotating in and out to talk to her before her labor began.

But that was twelve hours ago. Lucien slept in his old room last night, his head slightly throbbing from the bottle of wine he found hidden in the floorboards. His arrival yesterday felt grand - a new babe nothing short of a miracle for fae. But he woke up this morning feeling out of place and couldn’t quite shake it.

He grabbed a pastry, opting out of sitting at the magnificent table. It was stunning - thousands of years old, beautifully maintained oak.

“Lucien.” Eris’ voice was colored with surprise,

“I didn’t expect you to still be around.”

He grinned, raising his pastry in a toast. “I couldn’t leave without my favorite breakfast treat.”

Eris’ face was lined with exhaustion, but he looked almost brighter.

“I should be off.” He had no idea why he lingered overnight, unable to shake the draw of his childhood home.

“Will you see them before you leave?” He hadn’t planned on it, wanting to slip out unnoticed, an exit strategy leftover from his younger years.

“Is she awake?”

“Yes, they both are. There is no telling when Atlas will fall asleep again, though.” His brother beamed with pride at the mention of his son,

Lucien took the long route, taking his time climbing the stairs of the Forest House. They seemed much grander in his memories, even though he was well into adulthood when he left.

The walls were different - covered in paintings depicting more than just his birth court. They showed several courts - landscapes depicting a snowy night, one showing nothing but the radiant colors of Starfall.

He knocked on the door, entering after a soft voice gave him permission.

“Lucien, you rat. I didn’t know you were here.”

You looked radiant in the large, red chair. It’s surprising how long it took Lucien to realize the mating bond between his brother and you because red hues always seemed so natural against your skin.

“Come, sit.” You looked to the spot next to you on the couch, the ornate red fabric groaning beneath his weight. “And how are you?”

“You just had a babe and you’re asking me how I am?”

“Well, Lucien, I thought it was obvious how I was doing.” He couldn’t help the smile he cracked. “I’m alright, I suppose. The house looks better with you around.”

“Well, Beron wasn’t exactly known for his interior decorating, was he?” Your joke ignited something in Lucien’s chest, his long presumed father’s name not quite carrying the same weight it did when he was alive.

“Do you want to hold him?” He’s not sure if you noticed where his mind went, but he was thankful for the distraction, nodding.

Lucien looked down at the impossibly small thing, the hair even brighter than he remembered from the brief glimpses he got.

“Yeah, alright. Hand him over.”

He moved slowly as he grabbed Atlas, the tiny thing hardly caring as he shuffled into a new set of arms.

Lucien could define his brother into two people: the Eris that he knew as a child, who lifted him high into the air, helping hjm reach as high as possible for apples in the back orchard.

And then there was the Eris their father wanted him to be. The one who said and committed so many atrocities Lucien wasn’t sure where his influence began and ended in Prythian.

They were both just babies once, depending on someone else to teach them how to love and be loved.

Marigold always taught Lucien how to love. There were always glimpses of estrangement between Marigold and his brothers. They all loved her, but she always kept them at a distance.

“He looks just like Eris.”

“That’s what everyone is saying.”

By the gods was he beautiful. Just like his eldest brother in so many ways.

“He’ll be a great male.”

Lucien didn’t know which one he was talking about.

[anyarose011]

The Most "Wonderful" Time of the Year {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Despite a nice trip to the art gallery and ice skating rink, sometimes, Andy Williams just gets it wrong.

Part 8 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, description of nudity (on art), suggestive conversations, minor sexual harassment, a father has issues, fighting, Reader has a knife, and ANGST.

Heyyy guys (senior year, once again, has been kicking my ass and I also started a new mini-series that should be done soon). Again, I'm so sorry for how long it took me to upload and write this, and I know this chapter is short, but I swear it's got good shit in it. It's also fitting to have more chapters around Christmas time since, you know, this be a Christmas movie (yes, Alexander Payne, this can be a standalone movie, but you set it during Christmas so....) Anywho, I hope you like it (and that it breaks your heart :)

Word Count: 5.5k

You hated to admit it, but you actually like history museums. Even though your father always dragged you to them from childhood to adulthood, you didn’t really mind them. Your father’s additional commentary only added to the experience as you walked through the Greek section. It didn’t really for Angus.

“Are we almost done?” He asked.

“Quit whining.” You reprimanded him.

“I’m not.”

Your father chuckled. “What’s your hurry? I thought you liked Antiquity?”

He sighed. “In class, maybe. But I never think about it unless I need to.”

Humming, your father pointed to a casing of ceramics behind you. “Here, what do you see?”

You and Angus turned. Of course, he said. “A bunch of pottery.”

“Look at that one.” He pointed.

You certainly weren’t expecting to see a man diving his dick into a woman as she bent over to pick something up on an ancient Grecian artifact, but there you were in the Boston Fine Arts Museum, jaw on the floor.

“Amy look, a Candy Cane!” Angus teased.

“I hate you.” Was all that managed to leave your lips.

Your father chuckled, shaking his head. “Children, there’s nothing new in human experience. Each generation thinks it invented debauchery or suffering or rebellion, but man’s every appetite and impulse, from the disgusting to the sublime, is on display right here, all around you.” He gestured around the room filled with art. “So, before you dismiss something as boring or irrelevant, remember that if you truly want to understand the present, or yourself, you must begin in the past. History is not merely the past; it’s an explanation of the present.”

Angus nodded. “See, when you say it that way, and throw in some pornography, it’s a lot easier to understand.”

Mr. Hunham glanced over at you, surprised at your lack of outburst. “You’re not going to comment on that?”

“No,” you shrugged. “porn helping men understanding things checks out.”

Angus snorted, turning back to the teacher. “You should try talking more and yelling less in class. You know, most of the kids pretty much hate you. Teachers, too. You know that, right?”

“Hey.” You glared at him as if to say, ‘Lay off’.

Your father nodded, obviously trying not to show the hurt that was apparent on his face. “Well, I appreciate your frequent candidness, Mr. Tully.”

“Sure…” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down.

It was then you realized another thing about Angus Tully that reminded you about yourself: You only noticed how horrible your words were as soon as you were done saying them.

The rest of your time at the art museum wasn’t as awkward as that entire scene, thankfully. The sun had completely set by the time you had exited, and the three of you made your way to the park. It almost made you laugh how quick Angus was to the booth to rent ice skates.

“Have you been ice skating before?” He asked as you both sat on the bench, tying up your skates.

“Once when I was eight, I think. You?”

“I played hockey until high school.” He finished tying his and stood. “And I go every chance I get when I’m in the city.”

“So, you should only fall if I push you, right?”

“Right.”

You smiled after double knotting your ice skates and approached the entrance to the rink. “My feet feel weird.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been skating for almost ten years.” He teased, walking past you and standing on the ice with ease.

Sighing, you took a step out and immediately started flailing. Still, the two of you laughed when you retreated back to solid ground. “Nope.”

Angus begged. “Come on.”

“Nuh uh, not going to do it.”

“Your dad paid a good two dollars for us to skate, and you’re going to waste it?” He joked.

“Two dollars doesn’t mean anything to my father if I’m dead!”

“You’re not going to die.”

“But-.”

He said your name with the right amount of sincerity and playfulness. “You can hold onto me. I’ll cushion you if you do fall.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you still held onto the side railing, but stepped out onto the ice. Taking a deep breath, you began walking.

“You don’t want to do that.” Angus skated by your side at your pace.

“I’m alright.” You struggled to say.

He scoffed, holding out his hand. “Yeah, I can tell. Come on.”

You stared down at it as if he had never touched you before. Still, you took it. You expected him to pull you out into the center and leave you there for dead (or try to figure out how to skate on your own), but instead, you stayed by the wall.

“Okay, you’re gonna want to lean forward, and just glide; don’t walk.” He explained, showing you.

“I’ll fall.”

“No, you won’t. Just trust me.”

Against what your nervous system was saying, you decided to. Leaning forward, you tried to copy him; and it worked for like a few seconds before you started tripping over your own feet. He caught you, of course.

“Hey, not bad!” He held you up so you could stand.

“I almost died.”

“You’re standing on your own though!” He backed away, and you still were. “That’s a good start.”

You wanted to fire a nasty retort at him, but you could only girlishly giggle. You don’t know how long you spent on that ice skating rink with him. Yes, there would be times when your feet would ache, or you’d be a mix of sweaty from the physical labor of skating and freezing from the cold, Massachusetts air. Yet, as you finally gathered your footing, you felt as if you could compete in the next Olympics.

You couldn’t, of course, but you sure had the confidence to do so.

And it was fun to laugh and talk with Angus. It always was, but it felt as if you were both on an actual date as you skated together. To everyone else on that ice rink, you were. When Angus had completely fallen onto the ice (you didn’t actually push him down, he fell on his own), pulling you down with him, you’d nearly forgotten that your father was chaperoning you two as you laughed.

After leaving the rink and taking your skates back, you walked up a set of stairs with your father and Angus, discussing where to go for dinner when-.

“Paul Hunham, is that you?!” A man and a woman approached the three of you with a gleeful look. “It’s Hugh. Hugh Cavanaugh.”

Your father’s face fell for just a moment before laughing. “Yes! Yes, of course. Wow, Hugh Cavanaugh. Oh, how are you, Hugh?”

“Oh God, what’s it been? Thirty years?” He turned to the woman beside him. “Oh, uh this is my wife, Karen. Honey, this is Paul Hunham; we went to Harvard together.”

She smiled, shaking his hand, then yours, then Angus’. “Hello.”

“Yes,” your dad nodded at Hugh’s comment. “yes we did. Uh, wow; what have you been up to, Hugh? Still in the area?”

“Oh, uh, yes-yes I’m still in Boston. Cambridge.”

“Harvard.” Karen said proudly. “He just got tenure, statistics. He won’t blow his own horn, I have to blow it for him.”

“Okay,” Hugh said to change the subject. “what about you, Paul?”

“Oh, still teaching, we have that in common.” He nodded. “History, ancient history.”

“That’s great, that’s great. Where?”

“Abroad mostly.” Your father lied through his teeth on each word. “On fellowships. Privately funded fellowships. Universities and private academies. Mostly fellowships, you know. I’m currently posted in Antwerp. Just back here for the holidays.”

“So, are these your kids?” He pointed to you and Angus.

“Well-.”

“-I’m his nephew, Laurie.” Angus cut in, then looked at you. “This is my cousin, Amy.”

Karen smiled. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Hugh squinted his eyes as if to see you more clearly. Then, he chuckled. “Paul, do you know who she looks like?”

Your father hummed. “I would hope me.”

It was weird to hear your mother’s full name come out of a stranger’s mouth. He went on. “Do you see it? Same nose, same hair; you are the spitting image of beauty, young lady.”

Snickering, you didn’t even think of thanking him. “I’ve been told I have more of her temper than her looks. Although, our mouths are the same.”

“I have no doubt.” He laughed. “Paul, do you remember that one time freshman year?”

“Oh yes!” Your father pretended to. “When she-it was that one time during Roman history when Nolan-.”

“-Wouldn’t call on her when she was the only one to raise her hand,” Hugh looked back at you as if you didn’t know the story from the set up. “so she fed all the boys in the room the wrong answers for the rest of the class!”

“Yep,” Mr. Hunham nodded. “even I fell victim to it.”

Hugh was the only one who had relatively been amused by the fable. “Never put you and her together.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

The group fell into a strange silence after that. Thank God for Angus Tully.

“He’s writing a book now.” He titled his head toward your father. “Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul.”

“My book.” Your father snickered, then immediately played it off. “It’s not a book, really. Just a monograph. Nothing special.”

You decided to jump in. “Don’t be so modest, dad. It’s about, uh, cameras, right? Ancient cameras?”

Hugh hummed, a quizzical look on his face.

“What she means, of course, is the camera obscura.” Your father explained. “You know, the optical and astronomical tool that dates back to, um, the time of Anaxagoras.

“Tell him the title, Uncle Paul.” Angus went back, and you masked your smile for one of curiosity and not at the misfortune of your father.

“He’s not interested, Laurie.”

Hugh smiled. “Sure, I am.”

Sighing, Paul Hunham said with the perfect amount of enthusiasm and disinterest. “Lights and Magic in the Ancient World.”

Hugh nodded before turning back to his wife, and then to your father, clasping his hand on his shoulder. “Well, Paul, I’m so glad you landed on your feet. You look swell.”

“You too. So, swell.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Amy.” He said to you.

Thinning your lips in a tight smile, you said. “Thanks.”

Him and Karen walked away hand in hand, but he turned over his shoulder. “And we’ll keep an eye out for your book, Paul. Won’t we, honey?”

 She nodded. Of course. Merry Christmas, Paul. Bye, Leonard and Amy.”

You all wished them ‘Merry Christmas’ as you three also left. Angus wasted no time turning to you.

“What the fuck just happened?!”

“You’re asking me?!” You matched him. “You sprung into ‘Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul!’, ‘What’s the title, Uncle Paul?’.”

“I had to think of something!”

Your father sighed. “I appreciated your efforts, but I would’ve been fine on my own.”

Rolling your eyes, you asked. “Can we get dinner now?”

“I need to pick something up from the liquor store first.”

Sighing overdramatically, you and Angus stumbled behind your father. That was when you looked at the boy beside you. “Also, Laurie and Amy? Really?”

“What? They’re like brother and sister. If I said you were Jo, then that would’ve been weird.”

Oh my god, he wasn’t even halfway through the book.

You wish you had a camera solely to capture the look on your father’s face as he turned over and stared at both of you. You wonder if that was when he found out about you and Angus.

Shaking your head, you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff as you said. “Unbelievable.”

“What do you mean ‘unbelievable’?” Angus questioned. “Jo and Laurie get married in the end, right?”

“Unbelievable.” You repeated but smiled this time.

“Right?!”

Your father sighed as you finally made it to the store. “Look, the fact of the matter is, what happened, happened, and we should just pretend it didn’t.”

Angus furrowed his brow as you all walked in. “I thought Barton men don’t lie. Don’t get me wrong, that was fun, but you just lied through your teeth.”

He held up his hand, not having it. “What I say during a private conversation is none of your goddamn business. You’re not to judge me.”

“It wasn’t a private conversation; your daughter and I were there. Besides, he brought her into it.”

“I’m right here.” You announced yourself.

“Why’d he ask if you landed on your feet?”

Your father glanced up from searching through the shelves. “What is this, Nuremberg?”

“You’re the hardass constantly telling everybody not to lie and going on about the honor code!”

Looking up at both of you, Paul Hunham sighed. “There was an incident at Harvard with my roommate.”

You gave him a look. “I’ve never heard this story before.”

“He accused me of copying from his senior thesis. Plagiarizing.”

“Well, did you?” Angus asked.

“No! He stole from me.” Your father relented. “But that blue-blooded prick’s family had allies on the faculty. I mean, their last name is on a library, so he accused me in order to sanitize his treachery. And they threw me out.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “you got kicked out for cheating?”

“No, I got kicked out of Harvard for hitting him.”

Angus asked. “You hit him? Like punched him out?”

“No, I hit him with a car.”

“You got kicked out of Harvard for hitting a guy with a car?!”

“By accident,” he approached the counter, talking to the cashier. “Pint of Jim Beam, please.”

You piped up, still in astonishment. “Mom said you left because your grandma was dying.”

“She was, it was just perfect timing to go and help take care of her.” He shrugged. “But my roommate broke three ribs. Which was technically his fault, because he shouldn’t have been in the road.

“Two dollars, please.” The cashier said.

Your father took his wallet out, continuing his story. “Also, he shat himself; which was the greatest indignity.”

The cashier handed him the wrapped-up bottle. “Here you go, killer.”

You couldn’t help your laughter at the sudden statement. As the three of you left and walked down the darkened, cold roads, Angus said.

“So, Mr. Hunham never even graduated college? Holy shit, you didn’t even finish up somewhere else? Who else knows?”

“Did mom even know about you hitting the guy?” You asked.

Your father nodded. “Of course she knew! She gave me an earful on the phone the first time she called me after I left. It was only Dr. Greene who knew it after that. He’d always believed in me, so he gave me a job. Adjunct faculty: zero respect and even less pay, so nobody batted an eye, and I’ve been at the school ever since.”

“Are you ashamed at how things turned out?” Angus questioned.

“Not at all. I’m proud of my work, I love history, I married the smartest and kindest woman on the planet, I helped raise a spitfire of a girl, I love Barton. Barton is my life now. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

“Then why did you lie to that guy?”

“Because I knew he’d relish the fact that I’m a washout and never left my own high school. And he’d probably repeat that story to everybody we used to know. So, I figured he’s not entitled to my story. I am. “

Angus nodded. “Yeah. Fuck that guy.”

“Exactly. Fuck that guy!”

“Fuck him, I hope his car slides on black ice and crashes into a lamp post.” You chimed in.

“Woah,” Angus gasped.

Your father said your name scoldingly.

“What?” You scoffed. “It was weird as hell when he talked to me about my mom like he knew me.”

“I’ll admit it was strange and unnecessary.” Your father tossed his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He looked at both you and Angus. “But you’ll keep this quiet, right? No one is to know.”

“Entre nous, sir.” Angus nodded. “Entre nous.”

Your father nodded then chuckled, poking you. “‘Ancient cameras’. Where’d the hell you come up with that?”

“I tried my best!” You whined. After the men ceased in their laughter, you then said. “Can we please get dinner now?”

“Alright, alright.” Your father snorted. “Where would you like to go for your absolutely atrocious food concoction?”

“South Street.”

“I figured.”

And that is where the three of you went. It shouldn’t have surprised you it was packed the day after Christmas, which was also a Saturday. It had to have been a miracle you managed to get in line only when it was starting to go out the door; a few minutes after you arrived, the line had started to curve around to the nearest streetlight.

The diner was filled with life once you got in; families pushing tables together, friends absolutely drunk off their asses laughing, even half of the staff seemed to be enjoying the sheer joy from others. Of course, a few were understandably stressed and annoyed from the number of customers and their behavior.

The three of you were soon sitting at a booth. When Angus sat close to the window, instead of sliding into the seat across from him, you took the one beside him. Leaving your father alone on the other side. To ordinary people, it perhaps didn’t mean anything; but you still felt as if it was a signal.

“I can’t believe they’re still playing Christmas music.” Your father grumbled as The Ronettes sang about a sleigh ride and he slipped off his jacket.

You giggled, copying him. “It was just yesterday.”

“I know, but still.”

“I like this song, thank you very much.”

He held up his menu as if to hide his disgust. You and the boy beside you chucked as Angus said. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“You don’t know if you have?” You asked.

“It feels familiar. Maybe when I was a kid?”

“We’d always come here when we’d visit Boston.” You looked at your father. “The owner gave me a free banana split when I turned twelve, he knew us so well, right?”

That managed to pull a laugh out of him. “That he did. If he’s here tonight maybe you could get a free dinner for us.”

You and Angus looked down at the menu before you, and soon enough, an exhausted waitress came by to take your drink orders and lay down silverware. Immediately, you asked for French fries and your favorite milkshake.

“There’s no way that’s going to be good.” Angus pointed out.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” You scoffed.

“That’s not faith, that’s fact.”

“What you’re speaking of is an opinion, not even a theory. If you ever want to make it in this world, I suggest you learn the different between those two before you can even begin to comprehend what an actual fact is.”

“And what is an actual fact?”

“You’re an idiot.”

He smirked despite the fact you insulted him. You also couldn’t hide your own smile. It was apparent from anyone in that room, it was not a smile of victory; it was one synonymous with the feeling inside of your chest as it felt like your own heart would burst forth like light.

Your father had felt this feeling before, so it was not lost on him.

“You seem awfully happy to have your entire statement dismantled, Mr. Tully.” He said to Angus.

The boy looked up, still with a smile but one not as euphoric. “I mean, I wasn’t that serious about it.”

“Oh, and I didn’t think you were. It just astounds me how close you two became in a matter of a few days.” He said. “Wasn’t it only yesterday you both were at each other’s throats?”

You stepped in. “No, that was the first few days, actually. I mean, we were the only kids at Barton after that, so it’s probably best we figured how to deal with each other. I guess we both liked some of the same things too, so that made it easier.”

“Yeah.” Angus nodded.

Your father straightened his gaze between the two of you, but then smiled, getting up from the booth. “I have to use the facilities; don’t go anywhere.”

“No papa,” you teased. “we’re going to go do a line of cocaine with the homeless man a few blocks away.”

“You know, I’m beginning to believe that you’re the bad influence on Mr. Tully and not the other way around.”

With that, he left the two of you by yourselves as he walked to the back of the diner. Once he was gone, you and Angus cackled to yourselves.

“Do you think he knows?” You asked, a hint of concern mixed in with delight.

“I don’t know, probably.” He shrugged, still chuckling. “Is that so bad?”

“I mean…I’ve never had a boyfriend before.” You admitted, smiling shyly.

Even though the rest of the diner was booming with Christmas music and leftover excitement from the holidays, it all fell silent between you two. The boy who was once radiated in the happiness you shared with him, now covered in a shroud of terror.

Well…in reality, he was alarmed, not terrified; yet, that is all you saw.

“Shit I-!” You realized what you had just said. “I didn’t mean-I mean, we don’t have to be together, I just meant that I’ve never had someone like me back when I’ve liked them, and even then, it didn’t happen very often-.”

“-Hey, hey.” He stopped you. “No, I’ve never had that happen either. I mean, I’ve been to all boys’ schools since I was fourteen. I think…yeah, I think I’d like to give it a try.”

“Really?” You felt the weight from your shoulders loosen as your face brightened.

He nodded, glowing with you. “Really.”

You glanced up at the bathroom door, and when there was no sight of your father, you took his face into your hands, pulling him into a kiss. It wasn’t as intense as your previous ones, but not as quick as the one you gave him outside the bookstore.

He pulled away first, and before you could say anything about it, you saw the waitress leave from the corner of your eye. She had brought the drinks, including your milkshake and fries. Turning back towards the table, you immediately picked up a fry and dipped it into the milkshake.

“Oh my god, you weren’t joking.” Angus said with no emotion behind it.

“I know I’m funny, but this I would not joke about.” You talked as you ate. “Try it.”

“No.”

“I’ll kiss you if you do.” You took another fry.

“You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“I’ll kiss you like how the French do.”

“You already do that.”

 “I’ll do something different.”

His eyes grew, and he huffed out a surprised laugh. “‘Something different’?”

“Yeah.” You dipped a third fry. “I don’t know what, but I’ll do it.”

 “Not that you have to, but fine I’ll try it.” Angus reached for a fry, then dipped it into your milkshake and ate it.

Angus’ face went through more arrays of emotions in a short time since you met him. You grinned from ear to ear. “Well?”

“Fuck off.” He tried to hide his smile as he took another fry.

“I’m sorry, what?” You taunted.

“It’s not the best-.”

“-I’m sorry, what?!” You repeated louder, and you both were talking over each other. “It sounds like-!”

“You don’t have to be so-!”

“It sounds like you actually like it!”

“You’re so loud.”

You finished with laughter, and then kissed his cheek. You returned to your milkshake and fries as Angus talked about something funny that happened back in the fall. You can’t remember what he said to this day, because a familiar voice entered your ears as it entered the diner.

Angus kept talking to you, but it was in one ear and out the other as you tried your best not to show your discomfort at the man who laughed a little louder than the rest of the people in the diner. When you thought Angus wasn’t paying attention, you glanced over your shoulder at the entrance.

There he stood; a man around the same age as your father with a woman perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than him, holding a baby on her hip, and clutching her seven-year-old daughter’s hand.

Despite what Andy Williams was singing from the jukebox, this was not the most wonderful time of the year.

Angus tapped your shoulder, and you drew your eyes away to look at him.

“Hey, I hate this song, I’m gonna go change it.” He said. You got out of the booth for him to stand, and once he did you sat back down. Only for him to then say. “Okay, scoot over.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Scoot over.”

“You didn’t even change the song.”

“I changed my mind, it’s not that bad.”

He was bullshitting you, but you scooted over anyway, and he sat beside you. “What’s going on?”

You scoffed. “You’re the one that got up and sat down again.”

“Is that guy Daniel?”

“Angus-.”

“-Tell me.”

“Is he bothering you?”

Both you and Angus looked and saw the man from the entrance stand before you with his hands in his pockets. You dropped your gaze.

“No, he’s not.”

You had no idea what you hated more that night: hearing a man you never met say your mother’s name, or hearing a man you knew too well say yours.

“If he is, just say the word and-.”

“-He’s not bothering me.” You hissed.

Angus slipped his hand into yours as you kept your eyes down, but he kept his trained on the man standing in front of him.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I just didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

You didn’t say anything, so Angus did.

“Could you go? She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He ignored him, still angling on you. “Look, sweetie, you don’t have to, and I get it if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you came and meet them. They’re all right here now; Carol, Maria, and Frankie. He just turned one last week-.”

“-Can you just fuck off?” You finally looked at him.

He tilted his head and raised his brows before looking at Angus. “Young man, could you give her and I some privacy-?”

“-No.”

The man looked at you, scoffing. “Jesus Christ, what’d you do to make him so fucking head over heels for you? Was that the issue just now between you two? Under the counter action?”

Angus stood. “Fuck you, what’s your problem?”

You pulled on his sleeve, hissing his name and kneeling on top of your seat to try and get him to sit back down. The man continued to taunt him.

“My problem is that you don’t know what’s going on boy, and you’re being a little prick about all of this.”

“Get the fuck out of here or I’ll…”

“‘You’ll-you’ll what?’” He looked over at you. “I can’t tell if you picked the bravest or the stupidest kid to fool around with, Eurydice.”

You were always a strange child growing up. Perhaps it was that there are times in your life you picture music whenever a certain emotion arose within you.

As you heard him say that name, a name that you heard last when your mother was dying in her bed, a name that was only for her to use and her alone…You heard Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns.

You don’t even remember grabbing the stupid butter knife from your silverware, just raising it up above you and believing it would cause any harm. As Angus held you back, the man reached over you to grab your hair.

Chaos ensued for a moment in the diner as you cried out when he pulled the ribbon out of your hair, and both him and Angus engaged in a battle of expletives. Most of the diners held back and watched in shock, while only two of them came up. A man stood between him and Angus, and the wife of the yelling man pulled him away.

“Daniel, what the hell is going on?!” She hissed.

“Yes, Daniel,” all eyes fell onto Paul Hunham, who was behind Daniel. “what is the meaning of this?”

You shrunk back in the booth, Angus hugging you tightly against him as if to hide you from Daniel. Both of you stared at the scene before you.

“Paul…” Daniel nodded, standing taller and holding his wife’s hand.

Mr. Hunham nodded back. “Your Christmas went well I take it?”

“It was fine; yours?”

“Just peachy.” He gave a tight smile, looking around at everyone else. “Family matters everyone, I sincerely apologize.”

Hesitantly, the crowd went back to their own business; or they were at least good at pretending to as they eavesdropped. Mr. Hunham continued.

“Why’re you here exactly?”

“The same as you.” Daniel explained. “Dinner with my family.”

He hummed. “And you thought it wise to inform the child in the scenario but not me?”

“Now wait a minute-.”

“-I assume your wife also didn’t know about this or the letters and money you sent?”

At the mention of her, Daniel’s wife scowled. “Danny, what’s he talking about?”

He shook his head. “Hunham, you should just mind your own-.”

“-Well now you see, I can’t do that, because her mother trusted me to provide and care for her.”

It was only then did Angus Tully understand what exactly had been going on. As the adults fought, he looked down at you in his arms. It was as if it were the first time he had seen you, and it was the first time he noticed that he could not find a trace of Mr. Hunham.

The eyes he thought you had gotten from your mother stared up at him with dread, and when Angus looked back at the man seething with unspoken rage, he saw them there too.

“Look,” Paul sighed. “I don’t want to cause another scene, so let us handle this like men. You will not make contact with her again, and we can walk away.”

He took a heaving breath before responding. “Fine by me. Come on, Carrie.”

Daniel began to lead her away from your booth, but Paul stopped them. “I believe you have something of my daughter’s.”

His eyes trailed down to the ribbon in his hand. He let go of his wife to walk back to Paul who held his hand out. Instead of giving it to him, he turned to Angus, smiling. He handed it to him.

“Keep her on a short leash, boy. She’s got her mother’s mouth.”

With that, he and his wife and children left the South Street Diner. You only pulled away from Angus when he did from you. No tears had fallen onto your cheeks, but that didn’t mean they weren’t stinging your eyes as you tried to keep them at bay.

You took the ribbon from Angus only for it to hang loosely at your side. Paul softened his gaze as he began to put on his jacket.

“I think we should just settle on room service tonight.” He said gently. “I can get them to bag up the fries and let you take the milkshake glass?”

You could only nod, not wanting to look at either of the men with you. You all put on your coats in silence, and Angus, though not hugging you, hovered as Mr. Hunham spoke with the staff; both about not wanting to report the incident, and also on paying extra for you to take the glass.

It was so cold out, and everyone was so tired from not just the events of the night, but the entire day, that Paul splurged on a cab for the three of you back to the hotel.

Angus also didn’t feel shame in trying to hold you hand in front of your father; or…stepfather. You limply held his hand back, but you leaned against him as you sat in the cab, staring at the Boston Christmas lights as the city passed by you.

When the cab made it to the hotel, you led the way in a tired haze to the elevators. It wasn’t just the three of you in the elevator; there was a somewhat large family that piled in, all merry and jolly and reeking of chlorine from the pool they had just swum in.

It was as if God himself was rubbing salt into the wounds, tempting you to lick them.

When you made it onto your floor, you also led the way back to your connecting rooms. There was no ‘Goodnight’ or ‘Can we stay up just a little longer?’ to your companions; you simply opened your door and shut it in their faces.

Setting the milkshake down, you tossed off your jacket and pulled your shoes off. Collapsing on the bed, you looked down at the ribbon still in your hand…and you cried.

[solxamber]

Romance Clichés With: Idia Shroud

Cliché: The Dramatic Save

Others: Leona ; Vil ; Azul ; Kalim

The thing about Idia is that he’s very used to lurking in the background. Life is much simpler that way. But ever since you’d started spending more time with him, he’d found himself in the wildest, most "otome game" situations imaginable. And today? Today topped them all.

You’d been standing together in the courtyard, him telling you about his latest game finds, hands shoved into his pockets as he tried not to fidget too much. It was rare he got to hang out with someone he, uh, actually wanted to hang out with, so his nerves were pinging off the charts.

That’s when it happened.

With zero warning, a large, heavy textbook teetered off the edge of a windowsill above and began its rapid descent towards Idia’s head. He didn’t notice; he was too busy stammering about his latest high score. But you did.

In one swift move, you threw yourself across the space between you and practically flew through the air, hands outstretched like some overdramatic action hero.

You managed to get between him and the descending missile (okay, just a textbook, but in the moment, it was deadly), and though the impact wasn’t as dramatic as you’d pictured, you still managed to shield him with your entire being, shoving him safely aside.

By the time he realized what was going on, you were already fussing over him. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?! Did it hit you anywhere?”

He blinked, processing what just happened as you started checking his head for bumps, squinting at his shocked face. “Uh… w-what?” he stammered, brain catching up about three seconds too late. “Did… did you just… jump in front of me?” The look of awe on his face was equal parts adorable and ridiculous.

“Well, obviously!” You laughed, still fussing, hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Idia’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to process the sheer amount of romance that just smacked him in the face. You, his crush, his dream come to life, had gone full protagonist, for him. It was like the best tropes had all collided in his brain at once, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“N-No one’s ever done something like that… f-for me…” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he stared at you with this helpless, smitten look.

You tilted your head, a soft smile crossing your face. “Well, I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, Idia.”

Somewhere in his brain, the confetti cannons were going off. The “love meter” hit max. The screen flashed “TRUE ENDING” in bold, sparkly letters. He knew it was all real, but a tiny part of him felt like he’d accidentally triggered some hidden route with a secret character, and that character was you.

And before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “I think I’m in love with you. Like, maybe have been for a while. You’re like, the one or something, and—oh my god, why am I saying this out loud—”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed, as if he could just take it back if he tried hard enough. But instead, he saw you looking at him, your smile widening as you took his hand, gently pulling it down.

“You mean it?” you asked, a bit of awe creeping into your voice.

He couldn’t look at you, his eyes darting everywhere except your face as he mumbled, “Y-Yeah, I mean, yeah, I do. I can’t believe you’re real, honestly, this feels like a fever dream, but—”

Before he could talk himself out of it, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, quick and sweet. It was enough to short-circuit his brain, and when you pulled back, he just blinked, stunned, frozen like his internal processing unit had just maxed out.

“Does that answer your question?” you teased, unable to hold back a little laugh at his flustered expression.

“Uh-huh,” he finally managed, a dopey smile creeping onto his face as his brain rebooted. “Y-Yeah… yes.” He cleared his throat, trying to seem cooler, but the blush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway.

And as you both stood there, your hands still linked, he felt like the luckiest player in the world—like he’d stumbled upon the rarest, sweetest route of them all, and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Masterlist

[daisymbin]

secrets to a furball! - moon junhui

warnings: none!

pairings: moon junhui x reader

genre: a tipsy moon junhui &....a cat

wc: 1k

drunken confessions series

check out my masterlist!

a rowdy night evolved into a night of peaceful quiet as you half carry a very tipsy jun back to your apartment where he’d insisted on coming just to see your cat. “i swear, i just need to say hi to him,” he’d grumbled with a pout as you’d guided him gently inside.

your cat perked up as you settled jun on the couch, its tail flicking lazily as it watched him with mild curiosity. “stay put,” you said softly, trying not to laugh at how adorably determined jun looked. “i’m grabbing you some water and painkillers.”

he nodded, his gaze already focused on your cat with a warm, tipsy smile. you were only gone a few moments, but when you came back to the living room, you stopped just short of the doorway, his familiar murmuring voice reaching your ears. and this time, the words he was saying in mandarin sent a spark of surprise through you.

ever since he’d learned you had a gotten a kitten, jun had taken to talking to the little fluffball in mandarin, laughingly explaining that it was never too early for anyone to learn a second language; even if that someone was a cat. he’d joke about how one day, your cat would probably start meowing back in perfect chinese.

and so, with minghao’s help, you’d secretly been learning mandarin too. you’d told yourself it was just so you could understand what jun was saying to your cat; those playful, soft words that were spoken just for the two of them. but over time, you realized just how much you’d wanted to understand him, not just in language, but in every way possible.

"你知道我有多喜欢她吗?" ("do you know how much i like her?") he asked, his tone barely above a whisper, like he was confessing to your cat something he’d kept hidden from the rest of the world.

your heart skipped a beat. you hadn’t expected anything serious & certainly not this.

your cat blinked, uninterested, but jun continued, undeterred. "我每次看到她," he murmured, "我心真的跳得很快” ("every time I look at her, my heart beats so fast.")

you stilled, holding your breath as he sighed, his words full of a longing he’d never shared with you. it was like he’d poured every ounce of his heart into the drunken confession to this tiny, unimpressed audience of one.

“我喜欢她 喜欢到快要疯了,” ("i like her so much i’m going crazy.") he mumbled, his tone lighthearted but with a hint of something sadder under it, almost like he was trying to laugh off his own confession, whispering it to your cat as if it was some silly secret.

you swallowed, trying to keep your expression neutral as you stepped back into the room and set the water down in front of him. “talking to my cat again?” you asked, slipping into a teasing tone to hide the way your heart was racing.

jun jumped slightly, turning to you with wide eyes and a sheepish laugh. “oh, yeah, just…practicing mandarin with him,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy grin.

“you’re so dedicated,” you replied, smiling as you took a seat beside him. “my cat is very lucky to have you as his teacher.”

jun laughed softly, rubbing his eyes like he was trying to shake off his own embarrassment. “well, he’s a good listener,” he joked, glancing away as if trying to hide his own vulnerability. “doesn’t judge me… or my silly, terrible secrets.”

"oh?” you murmured, tilting your head. “and what kind of secrets would you be telling him?"

he stiffened, his fingers stilling mid-scratch on the cat’s head. "just… silly…terrible…things. nothing important." he repeated, not letting up.

but the way he avoided your gaze, the way his hand trembled just slightly, told you otherwise.

“you know, jun,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on him, “sometimes it’s easier to tell a friend than a cat.”

his gaze flickered to yours, a hint of hope mingling with the apprehension in his eyes. he swallowed, his throat bobbing as he seemed to consider it, his usual playful confidence nowhere to be found.

“i just…” he trailed off, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the room’s stillness. “i guess I'm just scared.”

“if I tell you a secret, will you tell me yourself what you told my cat?”

“that depends on if your secret holds the same value as mine,” he laughed, “what if you tell me a silly secret like….you just farted or something?”

it's always so easy with jun, laughing like this at midnight, “no i didnt just fart you dork! my secret is that....i've been learning mandarin from minghao for the past 8 months....& that i also heard what you said to my cat.”

he froze, the color draining from his face as realization dawned. his mouth opened slightly before closing again, his gaze shifting as he processed your words. slowly, he met your eyes, the unspoken confession hanging between you.

“you heard all of that?” he whispered, his face a mix of shock and something else, something deeper.

“i did,” you said softly, leaning closer. “& if you asked me, I don't think your secret is silly or terrible at all.”

jun blinked, a slow smile breaking through his shock as he processed your words, the last of his shyness melted away. “you really think so?” he asked as he reached for your hand, his fingers warm and tentative as they curled around yours. “if your secret is silly & terrible, then mine is too.”

[deskraven]

Thoughts on how the Terrans will cope with Human Family Member Death

(Inspired by @wiltyard's post)

I would assume the Terrans are aware of the life expectancy difference between them and their human family right now. They have witness human death twice, and transformer "death" twice. It would be weird if the parents haven't yet talked to them on the topic of death. In addition, Jawbreaker was well aware that transformer life expectancy is longer than "10 thousand years".

Thoughts on their reactions:

Nightshade takes it really well. They are probably aware of the fact even before they started regarding Alex and Dot as their parents. (I'm going down the path of S1E13's early storyboard, where Nightshade took some time to actually accept the human Maltos as family.) They would continue to take it really well throughout the next 100 years. They would be prepared for their human family's aging and take good care of them. They would do their best on researching human medical problems but at the same time respect their medical decisions. They would be present at all the funerals, probably even giving an eulogy if Twitch and Thrash are not present. They would be sad to lose them but they won't break - at least at first. They feel more like the type to break years/decades after the funerals.

Hashtag also realized this fact really early. She kinda just brushed the unpleasant thought away, unwilling to think too deep into it. When her family is talking about the topic, she would pretend she's taking it well but is actually quite terrified. She might feel more comfortable talking to non-family members about this. Eventually someone (Twitch?) will notice and approach her. But when the time actually comes she might still need a while to process the loss. I can imagine the grandkids / great grandkids of Robby and Mo asking their parents "Why does great aunt Hashtag stop visiting?" because she kinda just disappeared for years/decades after Robby and Mo passed away.

Twitch would be aware of this early too. She would feel obliged to be mature, thinking that she needs to stay emotionally strong for her family. Her stress is obvious thought - she's hyperactive, overworking herself during trainings, helping too much with the family chores, etc. Robby would talk to her about this, express his own insecurities on the faraway future, and they will figure things out. When death is actually approaching, Twitch would be quite stressed again. She would push all her important work aside to take care of her parents (even though they already have more care than they need). She would try to stay with them all the time, saying she's more suited for the job because she's about human height and doesn't get tired. And she would really, really want her human family to stay, to the point that it might be a little bit unhealthy.

Thrash is aware of the life expectancy difference, but it would take him a while to realize what this actually implies. The moment of realization would be a shock for him, then he would be in denial. Mo might actually fuel in with the denial, saying they might have a longer life expectancy due to Quintus power. He would be quite angered by the time they realize Quintus power doesn't work this way / or when one of his human family express the desire to live a normal life and die naturally. It's a quite standard 5 stages of grief except that he would be stuck in an endless loop of denial and anger and bargaining. I think he would be the one who harbors the strongest negative feelings over this, and it will be a recurring thing throughout his life. He would snap if someone outside the family brings up the topic. And he might not be present at the funerals. Losing Mo would definitely be a devasting thing for him - the bond between them is just too important and too special. He's her Rocinante and he feels incomplete without her.

Jawbreaker would be very obvious about not taking it well. He probably wouldn't realize the life expectancy problem on his own and needs to be informed, then he just starts bawling his eyes out, which is honestly a relief for Dot and Alex because this is the same reaction Robby and Mo had when they were first introduced to the concept of death (at the age of 5 or something). This is a recurring thing for him too - for a few years, whenever someone brings up this problem he just starts crying. I think he would say some innocent disturbing things like "I would die with you! 🥹" He would probably accept a religious/spiritual explanation like "We will still be with you even though you won't be able to see us or interact with us. / We will meet again in afterlife." He might become religious solely for this reason. But which religion? Can he still "join the Matrix" or "join the AllSpark" if he was born from the Emberstone? But then can humans join the AllSpark/Emberstone? Should he pick a human religion instead? Can a terran join human heaven in afterlife? How does reincarnation work? Can he reincarnate into a human? Could he be the reincarnation of a human? His family would need to deal with questions like these for a good while (which is actually really helpful for all of them).

[anniebeemine]

first day jitters- s.r.

Spencer had always known Amanda was bright. She’d adjusted to the idea of school faster than he’d anticipated, and every conversation they’d had about it was met with wide-eyed curiosity and excitement. He kept her involved in everything—reading books about school, walking through what her days might look like, and explaining routines. By the time her first day rolled around, Amanda was already printing her name in slightly wobbly letters, naming all her basic colors with ease, and showing off her ability to tie her shoes, though only if they weren’t actually on her feet. She was ready. Or at least, she had seemed to be.

Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure he was ready.

That morning, they arrived at the school bright and early, the sun barely cresting over the rooftops as he held Amanda’s hand, her tiny fingers gripping his a little tighter than usual. She had her favorite backpack on—purple with stars—and her pigtails bobbed as she walked beside him, chatting away about all the things she was excited to see. The playground. The big doors. The new crayons.

The schoolyard was already buzzing with the energy of other kids and their parents, and Amanda took it all in with a curious gaze. Spencer knelt down to her level, adjusting her backpack straps one last time and giving her a reassuring smile. "You’re going to do great, Amanda. Just like we talked about, right?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes scanning the other kids. Without hesitation, she darted over to introduce herself to a group waiting nearby, her high-pitched voice carrying as she proudly announced, “Hi, I’m Amanda!”

For a moment, Spencer’s heart swelled with pride. She was such a fearless little thing, ready to take on the world, and for that, he was grateful. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. He stood back, watching as she interacted, her laugh ringing out as one of the kids showed her their new sneakers.

But as the minutes ticked by and the big, looming doors of the school creaked open, the energy in the air shifted. The bustling chatter of kids excitedly filing inside brought a new realization, and Spencer saw Amanda pause. Her head tilted toward the school entrance, and then, slowly, she turned back to him.

Her face, once full of curiosity, suddenly looked unsure. Her steps slowed as she walked back toward him, and by the time she reached his side, she was clinging to his leg tightly, her fingers bunching up the fabric of his pants. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice smaller than he’d heard it all morning. “I don’t want to go.”

Spencer’s heart squeezed, and he knelt down again, wrapping his arms around her as she pressed her face against his leg. He could feel her little body trembling, the excitement that had been there moments ago completely evaporated.

Spencer knelt down, his eyes momentarily caught on the sight of Amanda’s backpack. It looked enormous on her small frame, practically swallowing her up with its bright purple straps and oversized shape. He couldn’t help but think how small she still was—how little she seemed in this big world, even though she’d been so excited about starting school. For a split second, he marveled at how determined she’d been that morning, bouncing around in her pigtails and proudly printing her name on a piece of paper. But now, in the schoolyard, with the buzz of children and parents around them, reality was setting in.

He was so caught up in the image of that oversized backpack on her tiny body that he almost missed the wobble in her lip. Almost.

And then, before he knew it, Amanda’s wide brown eyes were filling with tears. She buried her face against his leg, her small body trembling against him as soft sobs began to escape her. Spencer’s heart lurched painfully in his chest.

“Daddy, I don’t want to go,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her fingers gripped tighter, refusing to let go.

He tried to soothe her, stroking her hair gently, but his mind raced, caught between comforting her and feeling a pang of embarrassment as he noticed the other parents beginning to file in with their own children. Most of the kids seemed excited, some a little nervous, but none of them were clinging to their parents’ legs like Amanda was to his. Spencer glanced around, his cheeks growing warm as he saw sympathetic smiles from a few nearby mothers and fathers.

The knot of discomfort in his stomach twisted a little tighter.

Just then, a teacher emerged from the school doors, a welcoming smile on her face. She noticed Amanda right away and walked over to Spencer, her voice gentle and reassuring. “There’s always one,” she said softly, kneeling down to Amanda’s level. “It happens every year, Mr. Reid. She’ll be just fine once she’s inside.”

Spencer nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knew the teacher meant well, but it didn’t stop the ache from spreading in his chest. He leaned down and gently pried Amanda’s fingers from his leg, crouching beside her.

“Amanda,” he said softly, cupping her tear-streaked face in his hands. “You’re going to have a great day, sweetheart. I promise. And I’ll be right here to pick you up when school’s over.”

She looked at him, her lip quivering as her eyes filled with uncertainty. “But I don’t know anyone, Daddy.”

“You’ll make friends, I know you will,” Spencer assured her, though his own heart felt like it was breaking. “You’re so brave, and you’re so smart. And remember, you have your crayons and your favorite books in your backpack. You’ll be okay.”

Amanda shook her head, her tears spilling over as she started to cry harder. Her little hand found its way to her mouth, her thumb slipping between her lips as she sought some kind of comfort. Spencer’s heart clenched tighter at the sight, the weight of her tears making it harder to say the right thing.

The teacher reached out a hand to Amanda, her voice kind and encouraging. “Come on, Amanda. Let’s go inside and see all the fun things waiting for you. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

Amanda looked from Spencer to the teacher, her eyes pleading, but Spencer knew he had to let her go. As much as it pained him, as much as he wanted to scoop her up and take her home, he knew she had to take this step. She had to face the world, just like he had all those years ago, even though every instinct inside him screamed to protect her.

“Be a good girl, okay?” he whispered, brushing her hair back as she reluctantly took the teacher’s hand.

She nodded weakly, still sobbing, her free hand gripping the teacher’s fingers while her other hand stayed firmly in her mouth. Spencer stood up slowly, his own heart aching as she clung to the teacher, her little body wracked with sobs. It took everything in him to turn and walk away, but he did, forcing himself to take one step after another.

As he reached the edge of the schoolyard, he glanced back one last time. Amanda was still crying, her face pressed into the teacher’s side, but she was walking toward the school, her steps hesitant but moving forward. Spencer’s throat tightened, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to rush back and pull her into his arms.

But instead, he kept walking, knowing that this was just the first of many moments where he’d have to let her go, even if it hurt him more than he could ever put into words.

The end of the day came sooner than Spencer could process. It had felt like an eternity waiting for that first bell to ring, counting down the hours until Amanda would be back in his arms, but suddenly, the afternoon crept up on him. He found himself standing outside the school once again, waiting with the other parents.

He’d imagined her running out with a smile on her face, maybe her hair a little mussed from a day of playing, but overall happy—excited to tell him all about her first day. But when Amanda finally came out of the school, there was no smile, no pep in her step. Instead, she practically stomped her way toward him, her brow furrowed in frustration.

Spencer blinked in surprise, his eyes immediately taking in her disheveled appearance. Her once-clean sweater was smudged with dirt, and there were streaks of bright paint on her pants. The scowl on her face was unmistakable, and as she reached him, she didn’t say a word—just stuck her hand out angrily for him to take, her little fingers outstretched like she was demanding an apology for the injustice she’d just endured.

He opened his mouth to ask how her day went but thought better of it when he saw her narrowed eyes and tight lips. He took her hand, leading her toward the car, and though she held his hand tightly, she stayed silent the entire walk, her small feet kicking at the ground as she fumed.

After buckling her into her car seat, Spencer stood at the open door, looking at his daughter, who still wore that same angry scowl.

“What’s wrong, Amanda?” he asked gently, leaning down so he was eye level with her. He knew something had to have happened. His bright, happy girl didn’t stomp around for no reason.

“I hate school!” Amanda burst out, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. “It’s the worst, Daddy! Someone spilled paint on me, and I don’t even like fish sticks!”

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but before he could respond, Amanda kept going, her voice getting louder as she ranted, venting all the frustration that had clearly been building up inside her.

“And nobody washes their hands! It’s gross!” she exclaimed, scrunching up her nose in disgust. “I saw them, Daddy! They touched everything after lunch without washing their hands! And the teachers didn’t even notice!”

Spencer bit back a smile, nodding seriously as she continued to unload every little detail that had gone wrong during her day. He knew better than to laugh at her frustrations, no matter how small they seemed to him. To Amanda, this was serious business.

“And the paint—someone just dumped it all over me during art time,” she said, pulling at the now-stained sleeve of her sweater. “I wasn’t even near them, Daddy! I was doing my own painting, and they just... splashed it on me!”

Spencer sighed softly, leaning against the car door. “That sounds like a tough day,” he said, his voice soft with understanding. “I’m sorry all that happened, Amanda.”

“It was awful!” she insisted, her arms still crossed tightly. “And I don’t want to go back tomorrow. I hate fish sticks.”

Spencer nodded, resisting the urge to chuckle. Fish sticks were clearly public enemy number one.

“Well, tomorrow’s a new day,” he said softly, smoothing a hand over her messy hair. “I’ll make sure to pack you a lunch you like, okay? No fish sticks. And we’ll wash your sweater when we get home.”

Amanda still looked grumpy, her little face scrunched up in frustration, but she nodded slowly. Spencer could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced about school just yet, but as he closed the car door and got into the driver’s seat, he knew they’d get through it together—one frustrating, fish stick-filled day at a time.

[kaithonks]

So I’ve had some Thoughts about Jason Todd’s Robin

I guess you could say I’m still a little peeved about Robin lives, but it made me remember a story from a Class I took. I had the pleasure of getting to take a Comics and Graphic Narrative Class for my degree. The professor had a mind set to the class, in that he was not trying to show why comics are an art form, but how. Which meant we didn’t read Maus or Watchman, but we did read Heroes in Crisis. I do have thoughts about that, but that’s for another time. Any way, in class when we talk about Heroes in Crisis, Jason got briefly mentioned, with that someone mentioned his vote. And someone mention it was a landslide vote. I, of course, corrected that it was a very narrow margin of only 72 with some rumors of tampering. Which is about where I stopped myself, because it was getting too far from the original discussion. So I tried to circle the conversation back around, explain that,

“Yeah, I get a little carried away when Jason Todd comes up.”

The guy sitting next to me decided this was the time to say,

“No one cared about Jason Todd until he was the Red Hood.”

I realized now this was in jest, but my gut reaction was to tell him (a little louder than I meant) to “eat shit.”

I do regret saying that despite the laughs I got, and I did apologize to the class, though they told it was ok because “I was standing on business.” (The guy I told to 'eat shit' didn’t speak to me again till a like a month later, though)

So what’s my point with this funny little story? Well, I know I am coming from a biased perspective, but I still believe that there is some strong disregard for Jason’s Robin run, even among his fans.

He was only around for about 5 years, first appearing in 1983 and then ending with his death in 1988. Which is very short compared to Dick’s 40 plus year run as Robin, so really he wasn’t given time to be fleshed out in the same way. Some of Jason’s complaints at the time could have just been solved with time and not being written by someone who hated him, but that’s a recurring problem, it seems. Anyway, his death is a pretty pivotal moment in not only Batman's history but in comic history, so that can make his short run seem less important than how it ended. And what also doesn’t help is the almost instant back tracking on what Jason’s Robin run was really like.

So putting the Robins into boxes of happy, angry, smart, and girl is really regressive (Yes I'm looking at you Heroes in Crisis) as they are all their own characters beyond this very simple traits. They even overlap in places. And I’m saying this because I don’t think any one Robin was ‘the angry one.’ I think most of them as hurt kids who were using the identity of Robin to bring some light and levity, whether it being to themselves or to Batman. Or in a meta sense, that Robin is there for younger readers to relate to and bring a lighter tone to the story. And well in the 80s where Jason’s ran started comics were starting towards the darker gritty tone. I recommend people read “The Lives and Death of Robin: An Oral History of A DEATH IN THE FAMILY” By Joe Grunenwald to see a lot of the attitudes not only towards Jason, but Batman at the time. Jason came at a time when things were changing and well there wasn’t a desire on the editorial part to make Jason’s Robin work with what they want, because there was in incompatibility of what Robin was with the tone they wanted. And for all they claim that people hated Jason’s Robin, again the vote margin was very slim. And the published letters to the editor after, showed that kids of the time still claimed Jason as their Robin and were upset by his death. Beyond that, the Reddit thread r/comicbook had someone ask people about what they called for with Jason’s vote. There is quite a handful of people who admitted they didn’t think it would happen, so that's why they voted for his death. And of course there is a pretty vocal group saying they thought he was annoying, but in that they were also people who already loved Dick Grayson. He was their Robin. But as stated earlier, there are still those where Jason was their Robin, which is also in that thread.

Bringing it back, people definitely still cared about Jason when he was Robin. And even so many years later, I cared about Jason’s Robin. Jason’s post crisis Robin story is probably even more relatable today, with the growing of people barely able to scrape by.

Now many people point to The Diplomat's Son as a story where Jason’s character was whiny, and showed that “he’d eventually betray Batman”. But Jason through that story is trying to defend a woman who was sexually assaulted and was upset the man was going to get away. It’s always this I think of when people complain to me about Robin’s run. It also reminds me of in Under the Red Hood when Jason kills Captain Nazi. In my mind, it’s hard to frame these things as bad. Extreme? Yes, absolutely. But it speaks more to a character who was constantly failed, and faith in the system was broken. So the only way he saw to really help was to take it upon himself and make it permanent. Which when you consider Jason is only about 19-20 in Under the Red Hood. That’s heavy. But it’s only so heavy with the comparative of Jason’s Robin not completely having that faith broken and him having hope. If Jason’s Robin was also so extreme and angry, it makes the impact of Under the Red Hood, becomes almost nonexistence. It doesn’t mean anything if this is where Jason has always been, so neatly putting Jason as “always the angry Robin” and “always destined to betray Bruce’s morals” hurts his character.

Sometimes I feel that the people around Jason’s origins sort of stumbled into making a compelling character that wasn’t necessarily for them and don’t understand that, specially the way they talk about “my Batman”. They weren't the kids at the time of Jason’s Robin (maybe weren't really planing for young readers) and did a lot of blame shifting around Jason’s death. Which is strange to say the least, and this is where the back tracking on his run really starts. He didn't die because he just ignored Batman, but because he wanted to save his mother, who lied to him about the Joker. Still, they said after the fact, that “he didn't listen.” That isn't really what happened, it's an over simplification that's detrimental to their own story.

Now, a whole another conversation could be made about comic demographics and who Jason is for, past and present. But that’s getting a little too far from my point, that I feel to this day it's ignore that people did truly care about Jason’s Robin. People still do. Without Jason’s Robin, we wouldn’t have Tim’s Robin, or Steph’s or Damian’s. Jason is still an important character with in Batman, as Red Hood and as Robin. You can’t claim to love any later Robin run without paying respect to the fact Dick set it up, Robin, and Jason was his first successor. His death does overshadow a lot, even if it wasn’t permanent. And you can’t say you like the Red Hood without respect Jason’s time as Robin and how he’s changed. So Yeah. Jason Todd, Robin, is influential and shouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

with a few minutes' reflection and a second conversation with my parents I have realized that I may have overblown things and overreacted a bit and also in some ways they're correct even if I think they're also harsh about it

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[lyssafreyguy]

God . . . imagine thinking Laios is a bad person who doesn't care about people. actual insanity.